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etymology encurtains, encompasses,
and encapsulates healthy fixation
why I can spend countless hours
engrossed with printed material
courtesy select magazines or books,
plus aiming to craft satisfactory
poems or prose as an avocation
to share with anonymous
well seasoned cyber surfers,
and perhaps - wishful thinking of mine
being celebrated, lauded,
touted, et cetera posthumously
as a storied author, one of the greats
of the twenty first century - ha.

As a recipient of social security disability
for scads of years -
maybe half live of mein kampf,
(courtesy a diagnosis
of schizoid personality disorder,
though Renee Cardone, a former
long time therapist linkedin with
SpringFord Counseling attested
that social anxiety,
a more accurate explanation)
regarding mental health affliction of yours truly
evident within eminent domain
of these lovely bones
since late mother brought forth
scrawny baby post parturition
January thirteenth mcmlix.

When sitting facing the external
modest size external screen
synchronized to reflect
what these fingers type on the MacBook Pro
(Retina, 15-inch, Mid 2015) laptop
(like now - at approximately
nineteen hundred hours May eighteenth
two thousand and twenty four),
a profusion, infusion, and confusion
of ideas burst forth
once a title identified
for particular writing sample.

Dearth of travel experiences
severely limits potential
excellent material to access,
hence outlook grim actually nonexistent
to tell terrific tall true globe trotting tales
spanning across webbed wide world,
thus cerebral activity limited associated
with imagined people, places,
and things (some stranger than fiction - ha).

The milieu of the Internet a dogsend
to help expedite gestating, mutating,
and rotating brilliant ideas
within the mind of me,
a modest mild mannered male,
who cannot help but wince
with dismay how father time,
albeit surreptitiously unbidden sneaks
and steals away precious
days, weeks, months, et cetera,

whereby a formerly scared, nevertheless,
happy go lucky and charming little lad
particularly when ensconced
safely and soundly
within his boyhood bedroom
far away from the madding crowd
and the deafening sound of silence trumpeting,
signalling, rocketing mortal man at lightspeed
impossible mission to thwart how tempus fugit
doth captcha forsaken sweet dreams
swept away forever.

At long last, when head merges with pillow
deep sleep offers temporary escape into zee land,
and reprieve from unwanted mailer daemons
potent images actually manifested selves
of mine subconscious sphere
breathing, blinking, and begetting life
videre licet into transient transparent people
each rapid eye movement cycle
gifting illusory persona grata super powers
generated within a flash dancing icon.
Bully me, yours truly
never ordained, gifted, or blessed
with mien mean characteristic
evoking, jump/kickstarting,
representing, nor zapping
friend or foe courtesy fiery intimidation
if anything aura, charisma, dogma, and karma
emanating, issuing, and oozing out
body electric of one heretofore bookish fellow
immediately facilitates characterization
hashtagged lucubration and manifestation of quietude.

Though true agitation transparent to passersby
soul asylum of sexagenarian beleaguered
with invisible mailer daemons
that hound the psyche
of this doggone muttering bonafide wordsmith.

In argot of polymath author of these words,
(the modestly noteworthy
opportunistic, poetic Matthew Scott Harris)
essentially he describes himself
as a generic simple Simon,
who never met a pieman
his mellow outward demeanor
belies, harbors, and represses
a quaking, raging bull, and seething
tempestuous storm beneath the calm,
which faux placidity
shields a woke monster
(donned in Harris tweed and Scottish tartan)
mashing everything in his wake
courtesy huge feet
resembling puff daddy bear paws.

Though found out later in life
than most muggles
aforementioned humble
human like bipedal hominid
discovered extraordinary ability
to morph from dimwitted dork dweeb
into grim faced, frightful,
albeit gentle unassuming
pygmy up by the petard giant extraordinaire,
which latent superpower
never served him in good stead
to ward off cruel classmates and peers
tormenting teasing taxing
terrorizing treatment til tears
trickled down my cheeks.

Every now and again,
when some nasty brutish beastly lout
dares to utter colorful invectives,
a gradual transformation
slowly but surely occurs
within every baited cell
(automatically summoned, triggered,
and unveiled courtesy a bitterly
deadly force to be reckoned with
deep within these lovely bones)  
witnessing sudden bravado and daring do
additionally helped along after I discretely
chomp on powder milk biscuits
(the secret recipe only known
to forbidding Norwegian bachelor farmers)
giving an unexpected
judicious Hawaiian punch
to the loathsome miscreant
(never knowing what hit him)
knocking said **** out in cold blood.
crafted when Wallace and Gromit
returned from their trip to the moon,
which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) –
as cheesy poem crafted whey back
when the following Gouda eye idea
occurred while milking the cows.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted
courtesy spluttering, nauseating, and foaming LIX spittle.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.
Self immolation as sacrificial bleating lamb
promises eternal martyrdom
awaiting voluntary die hard protester,
where countless vestal virgins provide blissfulness
(think ******* mansion on steroids)
synonymous with delightful
grand view garden of Eden
transmuting mortal flesh
(clothed in lovely bones)
into burnt offering
mummifying and searing
once robust sacred heart
courtesy hungry, and angry forked flames.

Escape said hell on Earth I must,
which hopefully convincingly
explains the above nightmarish scenario
awaking me from an otherwise pleasant siesta.

Livingsocial here at Highland Manor
sparks the matchless following hyperbole,
whereby overactive imagination
fosters grim statistics of suicide in general,
and setting her/himself afire in particular,
yes no matter the truism, we
(yours truly and the missus)
can attest to a roof
(recently reshingled) over our head.

If only the (laugh-in) fickle finger of fate
would bless with doggone sudden wealth,
or bestow beneficent altruistic philanthropist
to bolster my very anemic
checking and savings accounts
which still smarts nearly eleven months
after weathering a blitzkrieg assault
iterated umpteen times
within previous poems,

and even posted a gofundme page,
whose soothing telephone voice
calm, cool and collected (sotto voce) belied
blood thirsty Machiavellian
scheming compute hacker and fraudster,
who called himself Harvey Specter;
One scheming scammer,
who made out like a bandit
 after he fleeced one naive sexagenarian.

No matter psychological services
found the author of these words vilifying
above named malevolent online marauder
who initially (convincingly) weaseled his way
thru the milieu of cyberspace
zapping this Apple Macbook Pro laptop,
claiming to be holier than thou
by disabling access to the Internet,
I fell prey to his charade,
binary enfilade, and façade
entranced and mesmerized,
subsequently feeling wretched
after carrying out the bidding
by unforgettable referenced clip artist,
which incident of being bilked
reported to the local police,
whose promptitude responding
offered small consolation.

Little forgiveness yielded toward
a punning wordsmith,
still seething, fuming, livid with rage
and mad as a hatter at himself
for following hook, line and sinker,
an older fella ordinarily tentative and cautious
when commingling with persons unknown.
When a boy,
I wanted to be as tall as my father
(he passed away October seventh
two thousand and twenty
linkedin to congestive heart failure),
who stood at his prime
about six feet and two inches
and tipped the scales
close to two hundred pounds.

Teachers and other familiar adults
chimed in that though diminutive
(yours truly, he unwittingly offered himself
as the ideal scapegoat
courtesy being longitudinally challenged,
weighing no more than an ostrich feather,
and hashtagged as "the quietest student,"
a flower child of the ninety sixties
always kept mum every single day of school),
would unexpectedly experience
peak height velocity.

Neither at ages eighteen, nineteen, twenty...
sixty three, sixty four and sixty five
bore witness to any added inches,
which topped out
around my sixteenth birthday
approximately seventy inches tall
and attendant weight a scrawny
one hundred and
twenty five pounds or thereabouts.

Actually since graduating
from Methacton High School
two score and seven years ago,
my weight ballooned
an avoirdupois unit of weight
divided into 16 ounces,
and equal to 0.453 592 kilograms
approximately forty plus times
such said constituent parts
first thing in the morning
after eliminating evacuating
re:excreting ****** waste.

A preponderance of adipose tissue
long since upended my once upon a time
twenty nine inch waist.

Slab of flab protrudes from ab - feel free to grab!

What follows initially written
quite some years ago
when being skinny as a rail meant
no meat on these lovely bones,
thus hired myself out as scared crow,
now excess adipose tissue thy foe
losing battle partially explaining
why knight spends inordinate
amount of time in his grotto.

Twas an incremental
subtle expansion of waist
plus olympic challenge to tie shoes
most likely side effects of one
or all nine prescription medications
to stave off severe melancholy,
social anxiety, panic attack, et cetera
when yours truly merely
prepubescent self starvation courtesy
emaciated Anorexic skeletal ribcage

traced (about two score
and a baker's dozen years ago),
now whereby most everything
thy tongue doth taste
immediately delivered
a randy (new man) paunch
to former washboard six pack
smooth as a fresh application
of gesso like paste
readying fleshy canvass

for partially ****
self-portrait masterpiece
(adjacent to barenaked lady)
lived three doors down
depicting mine once perfectly,
(albeit one scrawny lad)
proportioned body electric laced
with flat as a washboard physique
unlike present disk graced
whereat when sending a photograph

of shirtless self-try with futility
utilizing photoshop to get erased
displeasing equatorial zone of anatomy
saddled with unwanted
fatty tissue that defaced
proportionate rock hard stomach
one generic measly slender adult man
about five foot and ten-inch build
evincing an aura of being chaste
gone forever analogous to temptation

gobbling house constructed
of cake and confectionery,
that nearly did likewise
to Hansel and Gretel
readying their not quite
plump enough bodies
tubby slathered with baste,
yet just in the nick of time
the two abandoned minors
actually removed courtesy

children, youth and
family services (CYS)
under care of adoption in sync
with ***** work
aced the sinister plot outwitting
cannibalistic cackling
croaking old woman
inducing all to break out into song -
singing the following tune
I learned in grade school.

Loose air into pipes and croon
solo loud enough audible to man in the moon.

Sarasponda, sarasponda, sarasponda rat tat tat
Sarasponda, sarasponda, sarasponda rat tat tat
A doray-oh, A doray-boomday-oh
A doray-boomday ret set set
Ah say pah say oh.
With a title deeply rooted
in subject matter iterated above
invariably makes for hair raising poem,
though I immediately attest said material
constitutes atypical topic
the writing process (with intent
to share bizarre pet peeve)
mildly cathartic to ameliorate
long established body dysmorphia,
(which lifelong aversion

about how body electric
of mine - a corporeal entity housing
an aging baby boomer wordsmith),
steeped with lifetime worth
of disproportionate outsize importance
linkedin to those fibrous
harried styled brunette strands
sustained courtesy by tiny blood vessels
at the base of every follicle
buzzfeeding the hair root to keep it growing.

But once the hairs
becomes visible
(not just on my chinny chin chin),
but more so at the skin's surface,
the cells within the strand of hair
aren't alive anymore.

The hair you see on every part
of your body contains dead cells.

Nevertheless empirical evidence
witnessed bajillion dollar industries,
where many an entrepreneur
made a bundle of money
buttressing caparisoning oneself
aspiring to attain exemplification
towards how western civilization
(and subsequently webbed wide world)
defines contrived beautify.

Yours truly (particularly during
his emotionally tumultuous adolescence)
for all intents and purposes
most all each of his
life long journey into night,
he considered himself afflicted
with obsessive compulsive behavior in general,
and incongruous objection
with arbitrary template
of attraction (as applies
to the male species) in particular.

As a cute little boy
with strawberry blonde hair
kept cropped short to scalp
acquired motherly
endearment of "little monkey,"
accompanied courtesy pinch of cheeks
yet outgrew both imposition of buzz cut
and appellation, yet bananas
as passion fruit never faded
but parental decree to schedule appointments
with barber became vehemently reviled.

I vaguely recollect demonstratively
niggling, remonstrating, and voicing
strong objection, ne protestation
against getting a haircut
(in tandem with gesticulations)
as aladdin upper grades of elementary school,
whereby parents quickly relented
allowing, enabling, and providing
their singular sole son opportunistic
fostering unhealthy relationship
growing his long luscious locks
with what in short order became
nonestablishmentarian true trademark.

Fixation as a vitamin ******
peculiarly evolved whereby
ingesting over the counter supplements
(despite evidence to the contrary)
buzzfeeds limp tresses
lacking pseudo/quasi Jewfro
(a curly, frizzy, or bushy hairstyle
worn by some Jewish people,
reminiscent of an Afro)
sported by yours truly
during his emerging adulthood.
Palm history awash with drips
unballed fist humboldt
splayed fingers vamoose releasing
wrist took rat release sing psalm
palm history awash with drips.

(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson *******), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,

(whose birth name actually
Arnold George Dorsey MBE
inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!

GOOD LUCK!

Mine groovy palmar flexion
creases forever moistened
by porous size **** leaking levees
provoking deluge outranking Biblical flood -
handy history (in miniature)
replete with Ark keel logical artifacts
discovered by hall mark wainwright -
about 10 stone and 5 pound huckster,
circa Fin de siècle, when
callous ten hooks (calisthenics, eh)

caught without Noah
shadow of a doubt proof positive
by Matthew Scott,
so don't Harris me
(amat sure his surname)
linkedin to storied testament
rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small
impossible mission to decipher

indelibly etched, (what appear
as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration
contains preservative agent,
(a natural formaldehyde like substance)
generated nsync
to maintain eternal youthfulness,
which stumps medical community,
and earned him hashtagged "hotmail"
(eagerly sought after human commodity),

a blessing and curse palms plagued
with chronic profuse wetness, yet lines
(little flushed streams of consciousness)
rowed by itty bitty teensy weensy
merry daydreamers harkens back
when life held faint promise
for scattered (contra) bands
of bipedal hominids fiercely
competing with trumpeting

(Taj Mahal sized) beasts
(donned Johnny come lately tousled
windswept hirsute trademark)
Euclid heir'm barreling along
barren steppes all around
the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (proto-human)
chased the weasel
all around the world wide web.
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